


Potluck

by SEF



Category: The Office (US)
Genre: Gen, Gen Fic, Humor, Yuletide, challenge:Yuletide 2006, recipient:krabapple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-18
Updated: 2006-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-10 15:47:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SEF/pseuds/SEF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim loses his cool.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Potluck

**Author's Note:**

> Written for: krabapple in the Yuletide 2006 Challenge
> 
> Many, many thanks to beta readers destina, katie_m, and vonnie_k.

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
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When Dwight cleared his throat for the twentieth time that morning, Jim's stoic facade nearly cracked. He bit down on his pencil like a man trying not to scream under torture.

Jim waited a moment before slowly turning his chair to look at Pam. She made crazy-eyes at him and mimed the kind of strangulation that would permanently correct Dwight's throat problems.

So he wasn't suffering alone. Jim's mood lightened. He selected a random memo from his In box and sauntered over to the reception desk. He parked his elbows on the desktop and kept his voice low. "So. I'm thinking of soundproofing my desk. Do we have anything in the supply cabinet with a high R-value?"

Her head tilted quizzically, and then she smiled. The game was on. "I don't think so, but..." She reached for her office supply catalog and began flipping pages. She stopped at shipping supplies. "Look, Styrofoam! I could just ask Roy to bring some up from the warehouse."

Roy wasn't the co-conspirator Jim had in mind. He pursed his lips and nodded thoughtfully. "Great idea, but do we really want to screw the environment just to shut Dwight up?"

"Today?" Pam asked, with a world-weary sigh. "It seems like a reasonable tradeoff."

Dwight sniffed, long and wet. Jim winced, but Pam closed her eyes and shuddered. She pressed her fingertips to her temples. "Why won't people just use a Kleenex? I don't understand."

Jim snagged the tissue box next to her phone and marched over to Dwight.

"Hey, Dwight. Here's a nifty new paper product called a tissue." He slapped the box in front of Dwight. "Do you know how to use one? You just put your nostrils together and blow."

Dwight sniffed--disdainfully. "Oh, did your 'girlfriend' teach you how to blow?" His lip curled. "I think you're doing it wrong."

"What?" Jim asked. His voice rose to a pitch he hadn't achieved since glee club. "What did you just say?"

Dwight took a tissue and honked into it like a bugler. He dropped the used Kleenex on Jim's desk. "I said, 'Were you and Pam talking about blowing?'"

Jim saw red. He clenched his fists at his side and took one glorious moment to picture himself throttling Dwight with his own tie. Reluctantly, he decided Dwight wasn't worth even a justifiable homicide charge. Instead, he picked up the first thing at hand--his coffee mug--and dumped the contents in Dwight's lap.

Dwight yelped in outrage and lunged at Jim. Shocked, Jim raised his arms to protect himself, and Dwight knocked him off his feet. They tussled briefly over Jim's desk, office supplies spewing everywhere, and toppled to the floor, each man grappling for the pin.

"Jim!" Pam squealed. "Dwight! Stop it!"

Jim was in no mood to be the reasonable one. Dwight had attacked him, and he didn't care if it cost him this stupid job. He was not going down.

Dwight reared back to aim a karate punch. "Hai-yaaaa!"

Jim kneed him in the abdomen. Dwight's shriek dropped to something more like a cattle moan. He curled into a ball, and Jim raised a triumphant fist. "Yes!"

A smatter of applause circled the room. Jim stood up and took a little bow. "Thank you, thank you." Except for Angela and Toby, everyone looked delighted. Kevin was grinning from ear to ear, and Creed lifted Phyllis's Office Olympics medal in silent adulation. Even Stanley seemed gratified.

"Jim, I can't believe you did that," Pam said from somewhere behind his right shoulder.

"What?" Jim deflated. He raised his hands in supplication. "Pam, I had to!"

Michael threw open his door. "What, ho! Mi amigos. Whassup?"

Jim squashed a flare of irritation. Of course the applause had attracted Mr. Entertainment's attention. He took a deep breath and straightened his tie. Dwight was mumbling threats and lurching to his knees. "Oh," Jim told Michael. "Dwight's just having a little trouble controlling his bodily fluids today."

"Oooo," Michael said, taking in Dwight's khakis. "That looks NA-ASS-TY."

Dwight collapsed into his chair. "He attacked me with hot liquid coffee! I'm scalded! There might be no more Schrute seed!"

Pam chuffed in embarrassment and Jim adopted an expression of patently fake concern.

Toby stepped up beside Michael. The disappointment on his face made Jim examine the carpet.

"Michael," Toby said, "This is serious. I think we should talk about this."

Jim mouthed "Sorry" at Toby. He didn't regret his victory for a minute, but he did feel pretty damn bad that Toby would now be compelled to talk to Michael about professional behavior. That could only incite Michael's hatred for the poor man.

Michael clapped Jim on the back. "The problem is resolved, Toby. To the victor go the spoils. To the victee go the...unspoiled." He shook his head and mugged befuddlement. "That doesn't make any sense, does it? The victor should get the unspoiled fruit. The ripe ones," he elaborated, with a smarmy grin, "but unspoiled--"

"The fascist credo is warped," Jim agreed solemnly, as he edged out from under Michael's arm. "That's why they like it."

"You did not defeat me!" Dwight lunged at Jim again. This time Jim took a quick step-slide toward Pam, and Dwight fell harmlessly to his knees. Pam reached out to steady Jim, but a second later she slid away herself.

"Go home sick," Michael told Dwight. "Change your slacks, man."

Toby tried again. "Michael, I think there are long-term issu--"

Oh, that was a mistake. Michael put on his angry-dad face. "I am handling this, Toby. Go back to your desk."

Michael lifted Jim's arm to the sky. "Ladies and germs, we have a cham-PEEN!" Jim wanted to sink through the floor.

"And tomorrow," Michael proclaimed, "I hereby declare a day of peace. We shall break bread together in the spirit of nonviolence. Pot luck, everybody!"

Faces fell throughout the office. "I am not going to the grocery store tonight," Stanley grumbled.

"That's the beauty of a pot luck," Michael said. "The luck. Of the pot. You have a pot at home, don't you? And I don't mean Mary Jane."

Angela frowned. "You should have asked the party planning committee to set this up. Now we'll end up with nothing but potato chips."

"Potatoes are the perfect food. Just ask the Irish."

"Michael..." Pam started.

"OK! Back to work! Tomorrow's a fun day, people, so hustle." Michael provided his own soundtrack (doo doo doo, duh DO do do do do) as he danced himself into his office. The Michael Scott version of the hustle bore a close resemblance to the hokey-pokey.

A glowering (and still sniveling) Dwight hunkered into his trenchcoat and left. Pam and Jim returned to their desks without conversation.

A few minutes later Creed dropped by Pam's candy dish for a Werther's Original. He winked at Jim on the way back to his desk. "Nothing like a little homoerotic sport to brighten up a dreary Monday in January. Can't wait to see how you do it in Jello."

***

Jim apologized to Pam first thing the next morning. "I know it was a little, um, extreme," he said. "I just couldn't believe he said that about you."

She shrugged. "Well, that's Dwight. He probably didn't know what he was saying." She made a sad, little-girl face. "He was sick. We shouldn't have been making fun of him."

"He called you my girlfriend."

Her eyes went wide, and her mouth opened and closed again. "Oh, is that what upset you? That's so fifth grade."

Jim felt a hot flush creep up his neck. He hunched up his shoulders and dropped his voice to an outraged whisper. "He called you my girlfriend and suggested you were blowing me."

"Seventh grade, then. Don't you think it's time we all grew up?" She picked up her phone to make an imaginary call.

"I was defending you!"

The steely glare he received in response suggested Pam had all the protective armor she required. And Jim should have known that better than anyone.

***

Lunch was laid out on the conference room table precisely at noon. The tempting delicacies included Swiss cheese (no crackers), Doritos, Jello salad with bing cherries and walnuts, hummus, baked beets, hamburger casserole, and storebought potato salad. However, all this was denied to the staff until Michael had said his version of grace.

"I called this pow-wow so our little tribe can pass the peace pipe." The World's Best Boss produced an enormous meerschaum pipe from an inner coat pocket. "An honored tradition of Indian-Americans like those who first walked the streets of Scranton." He made a little hand roll in Kelly's direction. "Not your kind of Indians, Kelly. These were _noble_ savages. They knew how to hunt and fight and mutilate captives, but they also knew when to make love instead of war."

"There's no smoking in this building," Angela said. "Or within fifty feet of it."

Michael waggled the pipe at her. "This is a healing ritual, Angela, not some filthy drug habit."

"Oh, are we going to lay on hands? Because that's the only healing ritual I know."

"Well, that just shows how ignorant you are of the great diversity of--"

"I have asthma," Phyllis said. "I can't be in smoky rooms."

Pam broke in. "Michael, why don't we eat first? You know food always brings a family together." She could certainly push Michael's buttons when she wanted to.

Michael sighed dramatically. "Fine. We'll smoke after the lovin'. Mio familio! Let us gather together. And dig in. To this...feast." His face screwed up in indignation and he began to count the number of dishes on the table out loud. "Why are there seven pots and thirteen people in this room?"

"I have a conference call at 1:00." Stanley shouldered past Michael to grab a plate, and everyone else quickly followed suit.

Jim decided to eat humble pie before it was force-fed to him. So he dabbed some beets onto his plate, and made a smacking sound. "Mmm. Beets. Thank you, Dwight."

"Everyone loves beets. Even crazed lunatics, apparently."

Jim stuck out his hand. "You're absolutely right. I must have been stir crazy."

"Girl crazy," Dwight sneered.

"Now, boys," Michael said. "We can't let the ladies get a leg up on us. We all know how that ends."

"Hooooooooor-mones," Kevin crooned. Jim hadn't realized how dirty that word could sound. He dropped the hand that was still extended toward Dwight.

Phyllis and Pam looked disgusted, and Angela said, "I don't think it was estrogen on display yesterday."

"Come on, Dwight," Michael cajoled. "Shake the man's hand. Shake, shake, shake, shake your groove thing."

"Michael--" Toby began to object, but Pam shook her head slightly. He went quiet.

Dwight would happily run Jim down in the street, but he would never risk losing Michael's good will. He thrust his arm toward Jim in a sort of inverted Nazi salute, shook up and down once, and whispered "You've been infected, sucka!"

"Ick." Jim wiped his hand on his pants, which reminded Dwight of a different issue.

"And you owe me a new pair of slacks, Halpert."

"Oh." Jim thought about that. "Sure. Burlington Coat Factory, right?" He reached for his wallet and fished out a twenty. "Here you go. Keep the change."

Kelly grinned at him.

Oblivious, Dwight pocketed the bill with a smug smile. "You know, I could sue you for thermal injury and make millions."

"Only if I had millions," Jim said. "And as you know, my commission will not reach six figures this year."

Uh-oh. It was always a tactical error to mention compensation in Michael's presence.

Michael fumed and sputtered, but Pam cut him off before he could choose a selection from the Michael Scott Encyclopedia of Mangled Metaphors. "This casserole is delicious," she said loudly. "What's in it, Phyllis?"

Jim tried to waft gratitude toward Pam with his brain waves.

Phyllis was happy to cooperate with the diversion. "Oh, hamburger, noodles, cream cheese, sour cream, green onion, green peppers, and tomato sauce. It's Bob's favorite."

Jim grabbed a chair between Creed and Michael and inspected everything on his plate for signs of tampering. He rejected the hummus as unreliable and donated it to Creed, who went to work sculpting a pyramid and tiling it with broken pieces of Doritos.

"Awesome," he said, when Creed held up his plate to display the finished product.

Creed nodded. "Pyramids increase potency."

"We're not here to talk about sexual healing," Michael scolded. He went to the whiteboard and held up both arms in benediction. "People, we're here to heal our broken spirits. As you know, I think of all of you as my family, and in my family we love each other unconditionally and in every way possible. As friends and coworkers, parents and children, boyfriend and girlfriend."

Jim sneaked a glance at Pam. She was staring at her plate with an expression of smothered incredulity.

"Well, not boyfriend and girlfriend. That would be incest. If we were family. Which we are in spirit. And that's why, as the father of this family, I must put my foot down and say no more."

"No more what?" Stanley griped.

"No more Doritos for you," Michael shot back. "And no more passion in the office."

"Passion?" That caught Kelly's interest. "But passion is good."

"Not when it leads to dueling over fair ladies."

Kelly looked doubtful.

"Or dark ladies," Michael added hastily. "We must save our passion for our work. Work is our passion. Are we agreed?" He looked at Jim.

Jim nodded. "Absolutely," he said.

Dwight squinted at Jim suspiciously. "I will respond reciprocally if provoked."

"No, no!" Michael said. "No provoking. Right, Pam?"

She looked up from her plate. "What?"

"Nothing pro-VOC-a-TIVE. Sweaters buttoned to the top. All that."

Pam's ears turned red. "I'm engaged to Roy," she said in a small voice. "And I don't dress provocatively, Michael."

"Pam did not have anything to do with this," Jim protested.

"Methinks you doth protest too much," Michael said, with a swish of his hand.

Jim counted to ten. "You know what? I think I just developed a passion to get back to work." He stalked out of the room.

"Ah ha!" Michael crowed. He pointed at Toby with his plastic fork. "And that, you see, is a lesson in successful management intervention."

***

It was after two o'clock when the men went back to their desks and the women began to clean up. (Meredith was the only female who had the nerve to walk away from the dirty dishes.) Phyllis bustled around as happily as if she were in her own kitchen, but Pam, Angela, and Kelly shot resentful glances through the conference room window at the rest of the office. Dwight loitered near Michael's door as if waiting for an invitation to go inside and watch football.

An hour of reformatting cells in his spreadsheets had left Jim a bit less on edge. He rotated his chair a full 360 degrees to take in the office panorama: the workers at their desks, Dwight and Michael, and the ladies' cleanup crew. He had no love of dishwashing, but he had been the direct cause of today's management therapy. The women shouldn't have to pay the price.

He got up and ambled into the conference room. Kelly was stuffing paper plates, napkins, and plastic forks into the tiny wastebasket.

"Hey, that's a man's job, little lady," he drawled. His John Wayne impression needed work, but Kelly giggled and let him take over. He removed the small plastic bag that lined the basket and shoved everything, including the paper tablecloth, into it.

"Wait a sec," Pam said. She upended Dwight's Tupperware bowl and dumped a good three pounds of baked beets into the bag.

"Yee-uck," Kelly and Jim said in unison.

Jim cinched the bag. "So...I'm guessing no one loves beets so much they want to smell this in the break room trash for the next two days."

"Oh, I can take that out to the dumpster," Pam said brightly. Yeah, she was on to him. "Here's a job for a 'real man.'" She handed him Phyllis's crusty casserole dish to wash.

Jim rose to the challenge. "As you wish, Buttercup."

"It's Pam to you, buster." Somewhere a smile was glimmering beneath her frown. That was worth some dishpan hands.

Pam tucked the overstuffed bag beneath one arm and marched out without her coat. Phyllis promptly took the dish from Jim. "I like washing up," she said. "Why don't you put the chairs away?"

"Hey, thanks." Jim got to work rearranging furniture. "Want a ride?" he offered Kelly when he reached her desk chair. She hopped aboard. He was rolling her back to her desk when Michael came tearing out of his office. His eyes were wide and his arms were flailing. Jim's first thought was that they were in for a rendition of "Y-M-C-A."

"Pam!" Michael squeaked. "Oh my God! Mugger! Pam!"

Everyone froze for a half-second and then surged toward Michael's office window.

In his panic, Jim tripped over the wheels of Kelly's chair, banged hard against a desk, and scrambled up. He pushed his way past Ryan, Creed, and Michael, whose mouth was working like a fish. Somewhere behind him he heard Dwight yell "Sheriff! Stop!"

He was down the stairs in seconds and in the parking lot and NO ONE was there. "Pam!" he yelled. "Pam! Pam!" He turned around wildly. She wasn't by the dumpster. She wasn't in her car. Where was she?

He heard a small sound then--a kind of snuffling almost like laughter, and he would have known that laugh anywhere. He spotted Pam sitting in some broken shrubbery, her skirt poufed out around her, looking like Alice down the rabbit hole.

"Pam!" He slid to his knees in front of her. "Oh my God. You're hurt!" Her cheek was scraped and she looked dazed. He touched her hand. "Pam. Pam?"

"Ow," she said softly.

Dwight came pounding up. He gripped Phyllis's EZ-Tote umbrella in one hand like an orange and pink-flowered nightstick. "Where's the perp?"

Pam pointed to the parking lot's only exit, and Dwight took off down the street. "Sheriff! Stop in the name of the law!"

Jim snorted, and Pam laughed. Then she started to cry.

Oh, God. Jim had never felt so helpless. He clutched Pam's hand harder but didn't know what else to do. "Are you OK? Let me get you out of there."

She shook her head and smiled through her tears. "I'm fine."

"You're fine sitting in the bushes?"

She lifted one shoulder. "Well, it is a little uncomfortable."

"Here." Jim took both her hands and gently pulled her up. She wobbled on her feet and then just kept going, until she was folded against his chest and he couldn't help but put his arms were around her. Pam hid her face in his shoulder and quivered while the adrenaline burned itself off. Jim patted her back awkwardly and wished he wasn't churning with shock and fear himself so that he could just rejoice in holding her.

Neither of them had the opportunity to calm down before they were surrounded by a Dunder-Mifflin cacophony.

"Oh, no!" Michael said. "You moved her! There could be brain damage!"

"I called 911," Angela said.

"Pam, I brought your coat," Phyllis said.

"I'll get Roy," Toby said.

Kelly screamed. "Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! You're bleeding!"

That last got Jim's attention. He took a closer look at Pam's sweater. Her right side was dark with blood. Oh, no. No. Jim staggered. "Call an ambulance!" His heart was thundering in his throat; he couldn't hear his own voice. "Now, Michael. Now!"

Pam fingered the wet spot on her sweater and giggled incongruously. "Oh. Jim. It's not blood. It's beets. The perp got away with the beets." She stroked Jim's arm for comfort. "I'm OK."

"Jesus." Relief washed over him like a bucket of cold water, leaving him breathless. He dropped his head atop her curls. "I hope Dwight catches that ratass bastard," he whispered fervently.

Pam gulped and wiped her nose with her hand. "Do you have a handkerchief?" she asked. "You know how I hate sniffing."

"Oh, you are so funny, Beesly."

Jim didn't have a handkerchief, but Oscar did, and he offered it to Pam. She had to pull out of Jim's embrace to blow her nose, and then Phyllis insisted that she put on her coat.

A few seconds later the loading dock door rolled up, and Roy raced toward them. "Baby! Baby! Are you OK?" He clasped Pam in a bear hug that muffled any possible reply.

Jim took a step back. It was only then that he realized Michael was at his elbow--and had been babbling nonstop since his arrival on the scene.

Jim didn't see any reason to begin paying attention. He took a few more steps back, waved at the knot of people surrounding Roy and Pam, and went back upstairs to the office. He grabbed his cell phone and his keys and returned to the parking lot. No one had changed position, and there was no sign of Dwight. Michael's voice soared above the excited chatter, excoriating building security and police response time.

Jim smiled. Well, at least tomorrow's office fixation would not be his love life. He tossed his things in the car and drove home.

***

His cell phone buzzed a little after midnight. He muted the Nutrisystem infomercial.

"Hey, Pam."

"You're still up? I was just going to leave a message."

"Tonight's a can't-miss Creature Feature. Mothra versus My Little Pony."

"Maybe I'll turn that on."

Jim swung his feet up onto the couch. "Can't sleep, huh?"

"No. And Roy has to work in the morning. My mom's going to drive over for lunch. We'll talk more then."

"Well, that's good. I like your mom." Pam didn't say anything, so Jim went on. "So you won't be in tomorrow."

"No. Michael offered, and I thought...well, to tell you the truth I thought I'd rather not be in the office until Dwight gets over his cold."

Jim laughed.

"You left, so you probably don't know this, but they didn't find Dwight until about an hour ago. He was downtown, accosting anyone carrying a white purse. Michael was afraid he'd been taken hostage."

"Man, life is never that fair."

Another awkward pause, and then Pam said, "I just wanted to thank you for today."

"You want to thank me for letting you take out the garbage?"

"Jim," she admonished.

"Did you get checked out by a doctor?" he asked gruffly.

"Yes, all I have are some scratches. I was more shocked than anything else."

"Me, too."

"You're a good friend."

And that's all, Jim added silently.

"I'm sorry I've been so...silly...stupid...you know. I mean, you didn't do anything wrong. I wanted to hit Dwight, too. And I so wished you were there to punch out Scranton's dumbest mugger."

Jim bit down hard on his lower lip. He knew if he responded his voice would betray him.

"Jim?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Call me tomorrow? Because I want to know about the new security measures."

"Sure."

This time the pause was so long that he thought Pam might have fallen asleep.

"Hey, Jim, you know what? I'm beet."

He smiled. "Oh, yeah. You must be bushed."

They both laughed.

"Night, Jim."

"Night. See you at the office. Don't forget your birth certificate and two picture IDs."

He closed the phone on her laugh and sat in the dark for another hour before he took himself off to bed.

***

On Wednesday Dwight inspected everyone's shoes before they were allowed entry to the office, and Michael spent the morning on the phone with Corporate demanding funds for women's self-defense classes with Dwight's sensei. When Corporate didn't come through, Michael decided to assign each woman in the office a "male escort" for each trip outside the building.

Jim, of course, was assigned to Pam. He printed out the "Designated Buddy" certificate and propped it against his desk lamp where it would be almost impossible to ignore.

After all, he was a man who liked a challenge.

Read [posted comments](http://www.yuletidetreasure.org/archive/23/potluck_cmt.html).  
  
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